


Between the Sand and the Stardust

by sobakasu



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is Not Innocent (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), F/F, First Kiss, First Time, Ineffable Wives (Good Omens), Oral Sex, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 01:40:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21236033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sobakasu/pseuds/sobakasu
Summary: A moment in time between Crowley and Aziraphale;or, that time Crowley lost her virginity before getting her first kiss.





	Between the Sand and the Stardust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poorlyformed (cathybites)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathybites/gifts).

> Title is taken from the poem _'Stardust'_ by Lang Leav
> 
> _If you came to me with a face I have not seen, with a voice I have never heard I would still know you. Even if centuries separated us, I would still feel you. Somewhere between the sand and the stardust, through every collapse and creation, there is a pulse that echoes of you and I._
> 
> This fic is a gift for poorlyformed as part of the Ineffable Kinktober 2019 event.
> 
> Also, a huge thank-you to sssnakelady for keeping me sane and cracking the whip to make sure I finished this on time, and to my two lovely betas - unholyfrank and narcissisticSpaghetti - who stepped in last-minute to help make sure this was readable. And to everyone involved in the exchange, thank you for your hard work and support!

* * *

There have been many moments in time leading to this particular spot in the history of the earth; you know them. You have likely lived through some of them, and perhaps observed others - far more you have simply read about in books or watched on the telly, documentaries or programmes that told you all about historic events, people and places that can now only be experienced through guesses based off the flawed mementos and memories left behind by those who lived them.

This is not one of those moments. No films will be made; no songs will be sung, no poems penned to immortalize the events as they unfold. Instead, it is a private moment; an exchange between two beings who have been dancing around each other since before time was Time, though they may not have known it themselves. 

The facts stand, however, that each of those moments, each grain of sand that has slipped through the narrow waist of Time’s hourglass to mark the microseconds of the earth’s existence, has brought these two together to this exact place, at this exact time. Though the path has been a long and winding one, rich with history, each choice they have made has brought them here. Their history and the world’s are laid out, woven together into a beautiful tapestry of blacks, and whites, and greys, all lit through with gold and crimson, unrolled and stretching back through to the Beginning.

This is A moment. It is not the Moment; only She knows when that Moment will inevitably come, and She is quite tight-lipped about such things, when it comes down to it. But it is A moment nonetheless, and the events occurring within it are not insignificant. Nothing truly is.

If hard pressed, Crowley would be unable to say how, exactly, the two of them had ended up here. She is certain wine had been involved - but then, with them, it almost always is, and _ inebreation _ isn't ever a proper excuse. Not when they could sober up with scarcely a moment’s effort. No, this was _ beyond _ wine - and beyond _ intimacy _ . Over the years there are many scenes that could have been considered intimate between them, but this - _ well _ . This is on an entirely _ different _level. 

They haven’t even kissed yet, not _ properly _ . Aziraphale pecked her cheek when she moved in close, making her feel like a butterfly pinned under glass, helpless to escape the bright, eager gaze of the angel. Already she feels as if this - whatever _ this _ entails - is all spiraling wildly out of her control. If it was ever even _ within _her control to begin with.

Aziraphale’s hands are steady as they slide up the inside of Crowley’s thighs, palms warm and soft from years of indulgence and careful manicures. There is nothing of roughness about her; there has _ never _ been, truly. Even from the beginning, when her gentle curves had been less pronounced, more _ hinted _ at under the straight, unflattering robes of the times, Crowley had always known it. The knowledge had _ burned _ under the collar of her own similarly unflattering robes - though at least a proper fetching _ black _ , none of that white nonsense - smouldered in the hint of curve of her hip, of a breast, of her shoulder. The Victorians hadn’t been _ all _wrong, after all, with their puritan ideas. There was something to be said for the lovely curve of waist and hips, the little flash of skin at an ankle or wrist… Sometimes those little glimpses were more tantalizing and inviting than the most sensual nude imagery could ever aspire to be.

Crowley is aware that her mind is wandering now, flashing from thought to disjointed thought with the only connection between them stemming from the lovely head of pale golden waves kissing her knees. Careful hands gently shift fabric to the side, peeking past lace and silk shift and then she is laid bare to the angel, no place to run or to hide from that small, satisfied smile - with just the barest hints of something _ smug _ , something greedy and _ hungry _behind those bright blue eyes that she can just make out. It sends heat down her spine, because she recognizes that look. She’s seen it countless times on her angel’s face as Aziraphale observes a particularly decadent dessert, or an exquisite entre. 

How many countless times has she watched the angel savor her meals, lick her spoon clean with that indulgent, satisfied little smile, and imagined something _ far _ less innocent? How many times has she watched Aziraphale cradle a tart between pale fingers and plump lips and thought ‘ _ fuck, I wish that was me _ -’ and meant it wholly unironically? So this, she thinks, almost hysterically giddy with anticipation, _ this _is what it feels like to be a crepe suzette on an angel’s plate; this is what it is to be a perfectly broiled duck à l’orange.

She is laid bare, unwrapped by those deceptively dexterous hands, and _ yes _ , she thinks as a soft mouth brushes against her thigh, and _ yes _ again as it travels closer, higher - yes, _ devour _ me. Suck the meat from my bones, _ luxuriate _ in my flavor, make those sighs and moans that only the best of the best can draw from your lips. Indulge in me, angel, until all I have left is the knowledge that I _ satisfied _ you, that I was enough, that I was what you were _ seeking _\--

Crowley says none of this. 

“Please, angel, get _ on _with it -” is what she does say, thin fingers curling against the soft plush of the couch. It cuts off into a sharp inhale when Aziraphale gives her what she asks for, and kisses her clit. 

“Bloody teassse.” She hisses, but it isn’t a complaint - not even a little bit of one. Judging from the soft giggle from between her thighs, Aziraphale knows it. The demon’s head tilts back against the couch, a long arm raising and covering her eyes, because if she has to stare for another moment at that bright head of hair doing something so deliciously sinful she feels she’ll go utterly _ mad _, and she’d rather remain coherent for this for as long as she possibly can.

Or, well. _ Mostly _ coherent. She’s fairly certain, as Aziraphale studiously and carefully begins to make good use of that clever tongue of hers, teasing her clit and her folds, hands firmly holding her in place with a grip on each of her thighs, that she’ll lose her head _ entirely _before the angel is done with her, despite any effort made on her part otherwise. 

Really, she’s rather impressed with how cool she’s played this thus far - but she knows Aziraphale can see right through her. Does the angel know, she wonders, that this is the _ first _ time she has experienced this? That for all her demonic ways, she has never known the touch of another in such an intimate fashion? _ Surely _she does - Aziraphale is too clever at figuring her out by half, and she has no doubt that she’s quite smug about being the first to make Crowley fall apart.

The first… and the _ only _ , if Crowley has any say in the matter. She’s never had much interest in carnal pleasure - thought it a bit messy and crass, when it came down to it, just another biological urge the poor sods had to fuss over. Kissing, now - _ kissing _ was a bit different, and she’d imagined that many times - licking a bit of cream off the angel’s lips, tasting her mouth after she’d finished enjoying a tart or a pastry. It wasn’t her fault, not really; Aziraphale made eating into an _ erotic art form _ , whether she realized it or not, and Crowley had been witnessing it for _ centuries _now. 

It made it all the more ironic that they were skipping straight to the _ messy _part of things, really. 

Not that Crowley is upset by this. How can she be, with Aziraphale’s warm, wet tongue working over and inside of her, savoring her as if she was the _ rarest _of delicacies? She takes such careful note of motions that made Crowley shiver or bite back a sound, making certain to repeat them frequently. Her palms rest warm and heavy on Crowley’s thighs, interrupted only by the soft rasp of fabric there. Aziraphale hadn’t even bothered to really remove her panties, just neatly tucked them aside and gotten to work.

There is something to be said for Aziraphale’s work ethic, when it comes to things that she considers worth her time. Those things are few and far between, mind - selling books is _ certainly _ not one of them, and balancing the office till is even lower on the list than that. It isn’t as if she truly needs money for anything, after all, and she has told Crowley many times she would much rather keep her private library intact than actually _ sell _ a book. With no head office checking up on them anymore, Crowley’s fairly certain she’s given up going around passing out blessings and nudging people towards doing good things entirely; Hell only knows _ she _hasn’t tempted anyone in ages. No, instead she’s spent all of her time skulking around said bookshop, being a general nuisance and waiting for the angel to get sick of her and shoo her off - but it hasn’t happened yet. Somehow.

And considering the current _ location _of said angel, she’s beginning to think that perhaps she’s gotten it all wrong, anyway.

There’s something hot tingling through her that she can’t control and wouldn’t even if she could. It seems to be directly connected to both the angel’s tongue and the soft little pleased murmurs Aziraphale keeps making. Come to think of it - she’s rather making sounds herself, isn’t she? She almost hadn’t realized, mind too scattershot by the sudden shock of pleasure and sensation to hold back. Aziraphale’s tongue flicks against her clit, and her thighs tremble, a ragged sound catching in her throat. A hand shifts to bury into pale golden waves, soft as silk against her palm as her hips hitch forward on the couch - not able to go far, what with Aziraphale’s own hands keeping her firmly in place, but still clearly encouraging - _ do that again, give me more, angel, devour me until there’s nothing left but the dregs and then drink those down, too - make me a part of you - _

Crowley moans, a breathless sound - when had she stopped breathing? She wasn’t keeping track, it wasn’t as if she _ needed _ to - and Aziraphale hums and repeats the flick of her tongue, sounding pleased with herself. The little hum nearly makes Crowley jolt off the couch, the sound wrenched from her throat perilously close to a _ squeak _ as Aziraphale holds her down firmly with that grip on her thighs, and doesn’t even slow. Clearly, she intends to ensure that Crowley loses her damn _ mind _before she’s finished with her. 

Her thighs tremble a moment more, before she finally relaxes somewhat, going boneless against the couch as she lets Aziraphale take her along on this ride. Crowley is feeling a bit light-headed, fingers curling through that soft, pale hair as she tries to focus on anything other than how _ desperately _good this feels. 

It’s all a bit useless, though, and she really should have guessed - Aziraphale is far too stubborn to let her get away with focusing on something else to try to last. Considering Crowley’s only experience with the _ pleasures of the flesh _ had been a memorable occasion when she’d discovered the invention of the vibrator and been - well, _ curious _ , after a few dozen glasses of wine… It isn’t much of a surprise that the angel’s clever tongue is slowly winding that hot pressure at the very core of her tighter, and _ tighter _-

The cry is wordless, a shocked exhalation ripped from her lips, her free hand flying down to join the first in Aziraphale’s hair as she held her in place. Her hips are moving in small, hitching motions that she can’t stop as she crests. Crowley’s whole body shudders, slick folds fluttering around Aziraphale’s tongue as she eases off but doesn’t cease, giving Crowley a moment to start to spiral down from her release before she adjusts herself, and presses right back in.

The shock of overstimulation is enough to make her whine, high in the back of her throat - a sound she’s certainly never heard herself make before. Her knuckles go white in Aziraphale’s hair before she remembers herself and eases up her grip, thighs actively shaking under the angel’s palms now as little tremors rock through her. The continuing stimulation is enough that she isn’t quite sure the orgasm has actually ended - each flick of Aziraphale’s tongue seems to prolong it, make it stretch out further and further into this moment between them -

\- and then before she’s really recovered from that first orgasm, before she’s been able to catch her breath and reorient her scattered thoughts, Aziraphale has her beginning to peak once more, that coil of tight heat redoubling with an intensity she didn’t know was possible until this exact moment. The toes of her booted feet dig against the carpet as she squirms, the intensity of it edging against too much - but Aziraphale doesn’t so much as slow. 

There’s a slight glint to the angel’s eyes that Crowley catches, briefly - and it does not bode well for her, not in the slightest. Aziraphale is after something _ specific _ \- she has a _ goal _ in mind, and while she’s usually quite pliant and easy to talk around, when she truly wants something… that’s an _ entirely _ different matter. There will be no deterring her until she’s gotten what she wants, and Crowley feels something like lightning down her spine as she realizes that whatever that is, it is sure to ruin her _ utterly _ . Such a prospect should frighten her, should make her balk and push away - but quite the opposite. She can think of nothing she wants more than to be utterly and completely _ ruined _by Aziraphale.

Perhaps that is a dangerous thought to have. Perhaps it is foolish of her - but it is genuine, all the same. Ten minutes pass; or is it twenty? Her sense of time seems to have narrowed down to the slick, hot feeling of Aziraphale’s tongue, to the constant crest of tension followed by the heady rush of release, just to instantly be pulled back into the buildup, no time to rest or to adjust being given to her. Stamina is not something that they are lacking, considering their otherworldly states, but she feels as if her mind is gradually melting away from the constant assault. Her hands have long given up on any pretense of having control, curling claw-like against the couch cushions beneath her rather than risk pulling the angel’s hair. 

Still, Aziraphale continues. Crowley’s mind flicks back to her earlier thoughts - her desires for Aziraphale to _ consume _ her, to _ savor _ her, and she cannot deny that she is getting her unspoken wish in spades, the angel seemingly utterly content to remain on her knees before her in an obscene mimicry of worship. Yet -- is it _ mimicry _ ? It’s hard to tell, especially given Aziraphale’s nature; her deep fondness for indulgence and all the pleasurable things the world has to offer… Perhaps it is _ genuine _ worship, of a sort. There is something heady and terrifying all at once in that thought, of being a creature worshipped so _ blasphemously _by an angel… 

Her thoughts shatter apart as teeth nip at her clit, light enough to not hurt but a definite blunt pressure, and it’s enough to tip her over the edge once more, her voice cracking as she sobs her pleasure to the silent witness of the books that surround them. Her skirt is rumpled around her hips, her blouse impossibly wrinkled now, and she can scarcely believe that she’s still entirely dressed after all this. Even more, she can see from this angle that Aziraphale is just as perfectly, impossibly put together as she’d been before she’d begun her task, only the slight glisten to her plump lips and the flush to her cheeks giving away what she’s been doing for the past half hour or so. 

Or has it been longer? She can't tell. Time feels liquid; for all she knows they've been here for a small eternity, just the two of them - just her being slowly taken apart and then rebuilt and then taken apart again, piece by piece, by the _ literal _tongue of an angel. She doesn't sweat, which is good; she’s fairly certain she would have soaked the couch clean through if she did. Aziraphale has been doing a good job keeping the lower bit of things clean, because that - well. Now that she's given in to arousal and pleasure there are all sorts of things going on there that don't bear thinking about, really. Human sex is messy and convoluted and before this evening she hadn't really seen the appeal.

It's safe to say that Aziraphale has converted her, now. She'll sing the angel's praises and the joy of the human orgasm from the rooftops, if Aziraphale wishes, if only she would just give her a moment to collect her thoughts and find her words once more, for they seem to have vanished quite utterly. She's been reduced to moans and sobs and syballant hisses, sounds no human tongue could utter.

Her forked tongue, however, manages just fine - and she wonders if perhaps she would be able to return the favor when Aziraphale is finished with her. It isn’t something she'd allowed herself to imagine before now, but her world seems to have been flipped onto its head. Things she would have scoffed at as an impossible dream just a few short hours before now seemed perfectly attainable.

Unless, of course, she's gotten it wrong. Unless this was less significant than she was making it out to be in her head. 

Humans have sex indiscriminately all the time, after all. It's as commonplace as eating or sleeping for them, when it comes down to it. It's not that she thinks Aziraphale has been _ sleeping around _, or anything, but the angel was awfully fond of humans in general, and was both confident and skilled at her current endeavor… 

Well, it wouldn't really be too far a stretch to assume that she had, perhaps, done this before with _ someone else _ . Crowley couldn't begrudge the angel that, of course; they've been around an awfully long time, and to think that she wouldn't get attached to _ anyone _ during the whole span of it is - unreasonable. Just because she's been arse over teakettle for the angel ever since Aziraphale had miserably, defensively declared she'd given away her flaming sword to the pair of mortals… It isn’t as if she’s got any sort of say in how Aziraphale feels for _ her _, after all, and if there is anything beyond friendly affection, she can’t say for certain. 

Except, apparently, for _ attraction _ . She hadn't known that was there, of course, but considering the way Aziraphale is determined to turn her into a puddle of orgasmic bliss, it seems foolish to deny it at this point. Still, affection - _ attraction _ \- those aren’t synonymous with deeper feelings. Not always. Part of it, perhaps, but also able to be self-contained - and Crowley has never really considered before today that Aziraphale might be attracted to her, even a _ little _ bit. _ Hoped _ , yes. _ Wished _, even. But there is an insurmountable difference between wishing for something and having it actually occur; she knows that well enough.

Almost as if she’s aware that Crowley’s thoughts have started to stray into strange paths, Aziraphale bites her thigh. The sharp surprise of it jolts the demon out of her thoughts, entire body twitching as she hisses. Aziraphale laughs softly, eyes dancing with amused heat as she smiles. 

“Have I lost your interest, my dear?” She wonders, voice soft and breathless, and Crowley wants to weep with how _ desperately _she wants this moment to never end. 

Still, she finds her words, as it’s clear the angel doesn’t intend to move until she gets a verbal response - and considering how she’s just spent the last indeterminate amount of time making sure that Crowley couldn’t do much more than hiss or moan, this is quite unfair of her.

“Never, angel.” She finally rasps, and has to wonder if that is truly her voice. It sounds like she’s been screaming for hours, rough and husky, and she watches in fascination as Aziraphale’s cheeks pink, taking a quick breath before she smiles and ducks back down. Perhaps - _ perhaps _it wasn’t too much of a stretch to think that the angel is enjoying herself just as much as Crowley is… 

Crowley hopes she is. Crowley hopes, with all that she is and ever was and ever _ will be _ , that Aziraphale is loving every second of this just as _ desperately _ as she is. Even if this is all it is. Even if it will only ever be the two of them enjoying each other physically - she can be satisfied with that. She’ll make herself be satisfied with that. It’s more than she’d ever thought she’d get, after all. 

Except. Except Aziraphale isn’t returning to her diligent efforts to destroy Crowley via orgasm; at least, not yet. Instead, she’s speaking, and that - that is almost _ infinitely _ worse for Crowley’s heart, let alone all the _ other _ bits of her. The angel's voice is soft, perhaps a touch wistful, and it tugs so achingly sweet at Crowely's chest that she wonders if her physical being had attuned itself so perfectly to the angel that even her heart beats in time to the cadence of Aziraphale's words.

"You're so lovely, my dear. I could watch you like this forever and never get tired of the sight of you lost to pleasure - do you have any idea how often I’ve imagined such a thing?” The angel sighs, smiling as she kisses the inside of Crowley’s thigh, the skin twitching under her lips and making her laugh softly, the puff of warm air against her skin making Crowley shiver. “Far more often than is proper, that’s for certain.” 

To Crowley’s amazement and slight panic, Aziraphale is resting her cheek against her bare thigh, smiling up at her with such soft, warm adoration radiating from her face that she can hardly stand it - Crowley can’t stop herself from burying her face in her hands, feeling her cheeks darken with something far different than the aroused flush she’s been sporting for the last little while. A hand raises, soft and warm, and tugs one of hers away, and Crowley is helpless to stop herself from staring down at the angel between her legs, wondering a bit hysterically how things had gone from intensely sexual to intensely _ something else _ in so short a span of time, and if perhaps it would be safer to nudge things back in a carnal direction rather than risk whatever it is Aziraphale is preparing to say.

When the angel licks her lips before speaking, it grinds her thoughts to a screeching halt, because Aziraphale’s lips are still slick, and she realizes that it’s from her, which is just - far too much for her poor heart to take right now. She almost misses what Aziraphale says because of it, and she scrambles to focus on the moment again. As the words register, ringing in her head, her mouth feels suddenly bone dry, and she stares blankly down at the face smiling up at her, waiting patiently for a response.

“Sorry - come again?” She says, a bit weakly, and Aziraphale huffs, sitting up and planting her hands firmly on the couch on either side of Crowley, effectively trapping her in place as she leans up on her knees, bringing her face perilously close to Crowley’s own. Crowley wasn't prepared for this, heart beating rapid-fire in her chest as she stares, wide-eyed. 

“I asked, my dear, if you would perhaps like to take this some place more comfortable than the couch?” Aziraphale looks fond, if a touch exasperated, and Crowley stares for a beat too long before jolting, nodding rapidly. The angel’s nose wrinkles as she smiles, bright and happy, and she reaches up, cupping Crowley’s cheeks in her hands and making the demon freeze in place. “We’re doing this a bit out of order, and I hope you’ll forgive me for that, but I would very much like to kiss you properly now.” 

Crowley could no more have turned away that request than she could have ripped Aziraphale’s heart out and stomped on it - that is to say, it was possible, but_ not bloody likely _. 

Aziraphale smiles and leans up, thumbs brushing warm, blushing cheeks as she leans in and touches her mouth to Crowley’s. It’s everything Crowley ever thought it would be. It’s nothing like what she thought it would be. Aziraphale’s mouth is warm and slick and she can taste herself there, which - she’ll have to unpack that later - but it’s a simple kiss, more chaste than not, and the physical act itself is comforting. The emotional act behind the physical has sent her spiraling, however, and she isn’t sure if she’ll ever recover. 

There’s a hitch of breath, and it’s wet - and it isn’t until Aziraphale’s thumb brush her cheeks again and come away damp that she realizes that it came from her, and that she was crying. Fat, undeniable tears rolling down her cheeks to pool against the angel’s fingers, and Aziraphale looks torn between concern and a soft, fond apology as she leans in, kissing Crowley’s cheeks free of tears, which just makes the demon cry harder. 

“Oh, don’t cry, dearest - I’m here. I’ve got you.” Aziraphale soothes, and with a quick miracle they’re settled in the center of Aziraphale’s too large, too plush bed, sinfully comfortable and generally an utter waste, considering the fact that Aziraphale didn’t sleep. Crowley can’t be bothered to think on that right now, however, as Aziraphale is gathering her close and stroking her hair, and she’s still crying like anything, unable to help herself. She’s - _ happy _ . She’s happier than she thinks she’s _ ever _been, and as Aziraphale murmurs against her hair it just makes her turn and bury her face against her neck with a small wail.

“I love you too, Crowley.”

It’s cheating, really. Aziraphale is _ cheating _, and it’s - it’s wonderful and awful all at once. Crowley takes a deep breath that hitches into a hiccough after, then another, and then pulls back. Aziraphale reaches up and removes her glasses before she can speak, eyes blown yellow-bright and thin slitted as she stares at the angel, her words faltering as her last defenses are stripped from her quite literally. She wavers - then mutters to herself.

“Sod it all.” Thin hands raise, curling in soft golden hair as she pulls her in and kisses her desperately, whip-thin tongue sliding between plump lips that part so sweetly and willingly against her own. She’s talking and kissing all at once, a trainwreck of a confession as she trembles against Aziraphale’s soft warmth. 

“I love you - I love you, angel, please tell me you know that - love you _ so much _ -” Aziraphale giggles against her mouth and Crowley swallows the sound, greedy and dizzy with the shock of it all as the angel soothes her down from her frenzy, returning to a gentle cradle of her as she strokes a hand over her thigh, sparking heat as she remembers where Aziraphale had just been - and what she had been doing -

\- and now she’s come full circle. How they’d gotten from_ there _ to _ here _, she couldn’t say. She’d been present, clearly, as she’d been a key player in events as they unfolded - but she thinks perhaps she’d simply been along for the ride, when it really comes down to it. As Aziraphale kisses her again, softer, she thinks that she’s alright with that. In the end, really, she was always willing to bend over backwards to give Aziraphale whatever she wanted. 

She’d just never dared hope that she was one of those things. As Aziraphale murmurs affection against her lips and kisses her once more, she knows she can’t doubt it any longer.

And so the moment comes, and passes, and there is no earth-shattering revelations, no monumental shifts in earthly power or politics. There isn’t even so much as a crack of lightning outside to punctuate the uttering of affection between a demon and an angel. It is simply a quiet, cool evening, fall leaves glowing golden and bronze and crimson in the rays of the setting sun, and the world continues on; utterly the same, and utterly changed, all at once, just as the two beings curled up in bed together in a small, old-fashioned bookshop in Soho are utterly the same, and yet utterly changed.

Somewhere beyond the known universe, approaching the Beginning and nearing the End, before Time and long past Eternity, She smiles, and sets down a card, neatly slotting it into a place that has been waiting for it for nearly six thousand years. 

There is no equivalent to this card among the standard mortal poker deck, but it is safe to assume that if there _was_, it would belong to the suite of hearts. 


End file.
